


Extinguish

by sharedwithyou



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharedwithyou/pseuds/sharedwithyou
Summary: But there was a new season of Bones just added and you really wanted to focus on David Boreanaz, and if you’d wanted conflict you wouldn’t have turned down pushing away horndogs at the club in the first place.So you’d take solace in the fact that he already had your favorite show open and hadn’t skipped the theme song.Even if he was already half asleep on the opposite side of the couch.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	Extinguish

**Author's Note:**

> I love Dr Strange and haven’t written anything with him yet! 
> 
> So here’s a Bucky classic complete with laughs and feels and big sads.
> 
> This is one of the harder to write fics I’ve done. Its not the uber depressing/dark as usual but it’s sad and feels very real. 
> 
> Enjoy! Leave a comment if you like
> 
> Xoxo  
> Bucky the Angstmaster

It was Friday night and for the third week in a row, you were washing dishes instead of at a bar with Nat the Cat. Your hair was gelled into a perfect bun, and your cheeks were a perfect dusty rose. 

But you were doing the dishes.

Your phone buzzed, jolting you out of the pity party you deserved to throw yourself, or at least deserved to be a guest at.

You sighed and took your rubber gloves off, cussing under your breath as one of your false nails got stuck to the inside. You could’ve yelled instead of muttering, seeing as you were cooped up alone in your fortress of solitude. AKA Tony’s new apartment building. 

But instead, you mumbled some more expletives and checked your phone.

-Normally I would be dropping out of the vents to scare you before asking what you were up to tonight. But since you’re being a butthead and taking time away from us for “personal boundaries” (pretend I said it like the Spongebob mEmE), I’m forced into this neanderthal form of communication. So, Whachu up to tonight, Homegirl?-

You let out a rare giggle. Leave it to HawkButt to make you feel better.

But the girlish glee would have to be put on pause, as the door handle jiggled and the handsome doctor stepped inside.

“Hey Stephen.”

“Clint, if you’re here to drag me into a stupid spy-on-(y/n) mission save your breath. And cover your balls before I kick them halfway to Canada.”

Nat the Cat bounced to the beat, trying not to glare at the archer in pajamas. Which braindead bouncer let him in dressed like that? Oh wait he probably came in from the roof.

“Can’t a guy boogie without an ulterior motive?”

“Please tell me you didn’t just say boogie.”

“Fine. Groove to the beat.”

“Who are you, James Brown?”

“Take pity on my fogeyness and come with me to check on her. Please?”

“You know this is why she left. Boundaries. She needs time alone.”

“But she didn’t text me back! It’s been two hours!”

“Time alone isn’t just physical. Time away from social interaction is also very important.”

“Yeah, maybe for some people. But she’s an extrovert! And this is the third Friday she’s bailed.”

A crowd had formed around the two arguing. They couldn’t hear over the music what exactly was going on, but they hoped it was a breakup. Two newly single and lonely hotties would make their day.

“Alright, move it! Nothing to see here!” Clint barked, before grabbing Tasha, slinging her over his shoulder, and sprinting outside.

“You’re lucky I wore underwear today, Legolas. If I had accidentally mooned the club you could kiss your nads goodbye.”

“Duly noted. I’ll check first next time.”

“You really don’t want children, do you?”

“How was your day, hon?”

“Fine.” You weren’t trying to be passive aggressive, but he’d been eating for 20 minutes and hadn’t commented on your look yet.

“Weren’t you going out with Natasha today?” Maybe this would lead to commenting on the outfit. Going out equals going out clothes.

“I needed to clean the kitchen.”

“Ok.” It was an incredibly lame excuse, but he didn’t even try to dismantle it. Long day at the temple, maybe. “So, Netflix tonight?”

“I’m overdressed, aren’t I?” Last chance.

“Oh, (y/n), don’t be silly. There’s no dress code for the couch.”

Strike three. Now you had every right to pick a fight about how he said he’d fix the dishwasher two weeks ago, and yet here you were forced to do them by hand again. 

But there was a new season of Bones just added and you really wanted to focus on David Boreanaz, and if you’d wanted conflict you wouldn’t have turned down pushing away horndogs at the club in the first place.

So you’d take solace in the fact that he already had your favorite show open and hadn’t skipped the theme song.

Even if he was already half asleep on the opposite side of the couch. 

He used to fall asleep on your shoulder. But apparently it was too hot to cuddle lately. Of course, the AC was working as well as the dishwasher recently, so you couldn’t blame him for the lack of physical contact. You could, however, blame him for not getting it fixed like he said he would.

Whatever, time to focus on the dulcet tones of Dr. Brennan.

When Sweets made a classic blunder and you heard his chuckle with your own, you realized your man had propped himself up with three pillows so he could keep you company a bit longer.

You shared a quick smile.

“Can we turn off the subtitles hon? You know they distract from the actual scenes.”

Then don’t look down, genius!! 

He was, by all rights, a genius. First with his hands, then with his mind. Though you supposed the latter had been around during the former. 

Scalpel or energy blast, either way he was leagues above anyone, including you. Not that he’d brought up the comparison since the accident. 

His arrogance had left the day that his motor skills flew out the car window. Yet somehow, you missed it. The pride, that is. 

Though if Clint were there he’d make some tasteless joke about motor skills, foreplay and fingers. You didn’t miss Hawk’s sense of humor yet. 

But as much as you and the doc had fought when he’d been cocky as hell, there was a fire that crackled between you, in as many good ways as bad.

You didn’t want to miss that. You didn’t want to argue and yell and throw things and sob, even at the cost of makeup sex. You’d known since the beginning that passion can’t last forever.

You didn’t mind being comfortable.

But you weren’t looking for a roommate. And you weren’t looking for a Timelord.

You were looking for the love of your life. Which timeline had he gone to?

“(Y/n)?”

“Fine.”

“See, they’re fine. Happy?”

“How can you say that, Tasha?! They’re watching Bones!”

“Yes, it’s a great show!”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Nat the Cat, who glared right back at him. They had a staring contest for a solid minute before she blinked. “Fine. It’s a so-so show.”

“Thank you for telling the truth.”

“Ok but it’s a good show to binge on a lazy Friday night.”

“Maybe for you. For (y/n) it’s a comfort show. Like for when she’s been dumped.”

“How would you know? She’s never been dumped in the history of us knowing her.”

“It was a hypothetical example.”

“You can watch a comfort show when you’re happy too, you know.”

“Ok ok. So she’s fine. Is it too much to want her to be better than fine?”

Nat the Cat sighed. “No, it’s not. But life is hard sometimes. And being fine is better than most.”

“That’s so depressing.”

“So, maybe we stop spying on other people’s problems and try to enjoy ourselves when we can.”

“Is that a come-on? Because I’ve thought about it. A lot. But ultimately I decided it would ruin the friendship.”

“Pfft. Like you could be so lucky. Now let’s go back to that bar. They make the best aperol spritzes.”

“Fine. But you’re paying.”

“Hey why was (y/n) dressed up for Netflix?”

“Dibs on not asking her.”

It’s Saturday Morning and you feel grumpy despite not having a hangover.

You’d make chocolate chip pancakes per your Saturday Morning Ritual but you just did 3 weeks of dishes and don’t want to think about dirty dishes ever again. Maybe you could make Sunday iHop into a weekend thing.

“What’s for breakfast?” Stephen came in looking like he was mid-hangover. Falling asleep on the couch and refusing to go to the bed would do that for you.

“I don’t know, where are you taking us?”

He gave you a look. “What happened to Chocolate Chip Saturday?”

“You can order some at Denny’s.”

He shakes his head. “Eating out is a Sunday thing. You just need a clean pan. Why didn’t you do the dishes last night?” 

“I did!” You answered testily. “Just because the kitchen is clean doesn’t mean I’m obligated to cook.”

“Well isn’t that why you cleaned it? So you could cook?”

“Well excuse me for wanting a clean living space!”

It wasn’t even noon and you were already arguing. Guess the fight you avoided yesterday was tired of hiding. 

“Fine.” He went to find his phone, hoping it was stuck between the cushions and not lost again. “We can make an exception and get takeout today.”

You should’ve thanked him, but you were still grumpy about the clean kitchen means mandatory cooking comment. “No, I don’t want to bankrupt us. Maybe if you had your old job we could afford it.”

He stopped looking for his phone and gave you a second look within 2 minutes of each other. “It’s not about being able to afford it. And you’d think that saving the world would be worth more than a fat paycheck.”

You rolled your eyes. “The whole saving the world line is getting tiring.”

“Well you being ungrateful about the money we do have is getting tiring.”

You faced off with a death stare contest.

It was a solid 30 seconds of silence before you both looked away. “I think we both said things we didn’t mean.”

“Yeah.”

You peered awkwardly at one another, until a sheepish smile crossed both your faces.

“So, Denny’s?”

“Yes. And I’ll make chocolate chip pancakes for dinner.”

He walked over and put a hand on your shoulder. “You know I love you, (y/n).”

“I know. And I love you too.”

But was it enough ?

It’s Sunday afternoon and you’re still full from the morning’s caramel banana French toast. Stephen has the day off unofficially because Wong was on the warpath for whoever spilled hot chocolate on the tome that Stephen happened to have been reading. 

Of course, the free time Stephen had accidentally been given was being spent nose-deep in The Economist. Just because he could see what was happening in 300 realities didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a well summarized article. Or a pithy opinion piece. 

And here you were, away from the apartment, chilling on the roof of the tower instead. Enjoying the solitude despite the shrill alarm going off. 

“Normal people use the front door, (y/n).”

“I don’t remember you ringing the doorbell yesterday, Clint.”

The archer hopped down from the telephone pole and landed nimbly next to you. “So you did hear us.”

“How did you get Nat away from the club? Did you hire a guy to be a pervert again? Did you forget we had to pay off a lawsuit after she broke the collarbone of the last dude?”

“I used the most deadly weapon in my arsenal.”

“The African bullfrog toxin??”

“No, pity.”

“Oh wow. Pulling the big guns this time.”

He crossed his eyes at you and you grinned. He ruffled your hair before sitting down next to you. “So why are you here?”

“What, a girl can’t visit after three weeks?”

“A girl can. But not a day after she got dressed up yet still skipped out on her friends.”

“It’s been two days.” You quipped. “And I didn’t realize I could only hang out with you on your terms.”

“Stop deflecting and tell me why you’re moping up here instead of spending the rare free day with the Doc.”

You sighed heavily and leaned on his shoulder. “We got in a fight again.”

“So what’s new?”

“Just because I’m used to it doesn’t mean it doesn’t bug the hell out of me.”

“Don’t you usually make up instead of fleeing like a scared rabbit?”

He flinched, anticipating your fist, but you didn’t move.

“Damn, it must be bad. Where’s your fire, girl?”

“Don’t you mean Homegirl?” You sat up and crossed your eyes back at him, but he didn’t smile this time.

“Didn’t you go to therapy?”

“Yes, and it helped for a while. But now shit is the same as before, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

It was his time to sigh heavily. “I’m assuming you’re not playing the victim when you argue, so you’re throwing punches fairly. Metaphorically. If you were physically fighting he’d blast you into next week.”

“Ok, I’ll bite. What’s your point?”

“That you’re not blameless in this. You’re both the problem. So, congrats. You both suck.”

You gave him the punch on the shoulder you’d held out on earlier. “Thanks for stating the obvious. But I’d like to say the blame is 45/55.”

“You’re the 55 right?” He flinched again, but you were busy staring at your lap. 

“I’m tired, Clint.”

“I know. This is the part where I ask why you’re still together.”

“Because we love each other.”

“Nat and I love each other too, but we’re not going to couple’s counseling. And we’re able to go a whole day without fighting.”

“I’ll have you know we didn’t fight on Friday.”

“Yeah, but he fell asleep 5 minutes after he came home.”

“Besides. You and Nat’s love is different from ours.”

“What, we think about doing it too!”

“Just you, moron!”

“Exactly.” He looked you dead in the eye. Damn, he’s good.

“How did you know?”

“That y’all are frigid? Lucky guess. You know I’ve stayed away from your bedroom after that unfortunate incident.”

You giggled, remembering Clint hanging from the roof helplessly while you zapped him repeatedly with the electric fly swatter.

He glared at you with his hands in his hips.

“So, to summarize. You’re arguing constantly. You’re not having sex. You’re a match made in heaven, alright.”

You glared right back at him. “Spare me the sarcasm.”

“Oh, and you love him only as a friend.”

You got up abruptly and walked away. Youwent three feet before being tackled straight to the ground.

“Get off.” Your voice was chilly, but Clint hugged you tightly.

“Come on, (y/n). Fight with me. Yell!”

You elbowed him hard in the ribs, but he held on firm.

“Quit it.” You spoke tonelessly.

“You’re only together because you both are too afraid to be alone.”

“Shut up.” Your words were cold, but the fire was starting in your eyes.

“Let it out, (y/n).”

“Shut up!” You couldn’t keep your tone level.

“Yes, more.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” You screamed and stomped on his foot hard enough to make him limp and let go of you.

“You think you know everything, don’t you! You’re so proud of your stupid advice you never stop to listen!”

He nodded, taking it easily without retaliating.

“You spy and sneak around instead of being real. You drag Tasha everywhere because you can’t do anything alone.

You’re as much of a coward as I am.”

You stood opposite each other, a familiar stance so familiar to you. 

But never with him.

It should’ve been the same, but it wasn’t.

You’d wanted things to be different, but not like this.

Stephen, did you give up on us because you saw this coming? 

Did you stop putting effort because you knew it would end?

If that was the case, should we not have even started to begin with?

Did you know it was ending because you’d seen the future? Or because you realized we’d fallen out of love?

Is it over?

**Author's Note:**

> Saddddddd
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked!!
> 
> Quick poll 1: which line was realest to you?
> 
> Quick poll 2: why do you think lovely was dressed up doing dishes?
> 
> Let me know how you are doing!
> 
> Stay safe lovelies!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky


End file.
